


Corazon

by dralexreid



Series: Dr Piper Bishop [64]
Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Angst, Comfort, Fluff, Gen, Hurt, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-16
Updated: 2021-01-17
Packaged: 2021-03-14 01:42:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28788162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dralexreid/pseuds/dralexreid
Summary: When the BAU travels to Miami to investigate a serial killer who is committing ritualistic murders, Reid experiences hallucinations and blinding headaches that cause him to worry about his health.
Relationships: Dr Spencer Reid/Dr Piper Bishop
Series: Dr Piper Bishop [64]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1972852
Kudos: 16





	1. Chapter 1

Penelope had just finished off handing out the files when Spencer arrived sans Piper which was the second most confusing part. “You okay?” Emily asked as he approached.

“Yeah. Why?” he asked in an atypical, rapid tone of voice.

“You're never late,” Derek reminded him.

“Have we started the briefing yet?” he asked, not making eye contact with anyone, the fluorescent lights lining the room stinging his eyes.

“Just about to.”

“Then I'm not late,” he retorted, taking a seat next to Ashley.

“Where’s Dr Bishop?” she asked.

“At a conference in Seattle,” Dave answered easily, flicking through images on his tablet. “She’ll join us when we land.”

“Attention, intrepid BAU adventurers,” Penelope called before the conversation veered off-track. “The land of Bermuda shorts, white leisure suits, and sansabelt slacks requests your presence.”

“Arizona?” Dave guessed.

“Vegas,” Derek reasoned.

“Palm Springs?” Emily asked.

“Please,” Hotch countered, silencing all three of them.

“I was going to say Miami but point well made about the dizzying number of locales with unfortunate fashion tendencies,” Penelope said quickly. “Here we go.”

“Shells in the eyes and mouth,” David said, astonished. “You don't see that every day. Not even in Miami.” Derek chuckled wryly.

“3 victims,” Hotch summed up. “The last one found with a...”

“A decapitated cat?” Emily asked, surprised at the last image on her tablet.

“All were found within a mile of each other in a mostly Latino neighbourhood in Miami called Allapattah,” Hotch finished.

“Eduardo Guzman, homeless,” Penelope said, letting his driver’s licence flash on the screen behind her. “He was shot to death 7 days ago.” An image blew up on the screen, the old black man lying strewn on a makeshift bed next to a shopping cart and what appeared to be remnants of his dinner. Guzman lay next to a chalk drawing made on the floor of a large circle, arrows pointing in four quadrants. “Yanira Espinal, prostitute, bludgeoned to death 3 days ago.” The second picture blew up and the profilers gazed mournfully at the young woman lying fully clothed in her bed. “And then Victor Cabrera, he was an unemployed janitor. He was slashed with a machete yesterday, as was his cat.” Spencer teetered in his street as Dave proceeded to add his bit.

“You know, considering the homeless man lived in that alley, all of the victims essentially were killed in their homes.”

“This took some time,” Derek pointed out, showing the first murder to Hotch.

“In the open,” Hotch added.

“You know, cowrie shells and ritual offerings are common to a number of Afro-Caribbean religions,” Spencer remarked, still unable to meet anyone’s gaze.

“But the upside-down cross looks like satanism,” Emily added.

“The first two victims had fingers missing, but on this one, he took both hands,” Derek continued.

“All of this could have been religious?” Ashley asked, her piercing blue gaze directed at Spencer.

“This could have specific religious meaning, or it could just be part of the unsub's signature,” he answered quickly.

“Bishop’s looking at the religious aspect of it,” Aaron said, not noticing Reid’s behaviour. “Either way, his timetable's accelerating. We have a day, maybe 2, before the Miami PD has another body on its hands.”’

* * *

On the jet, Aaron couldn’t help noticing how Spencer stuck to the shadows reading while the rest of the team discussed the case. Piper was on a connected call with Penelope, both of them listening into the conversation. “The first victim was frail and an easy target, and yet the unsub shot him from behind and at a distance.”

“By the second victim, the unsub chose not to use a gun anymore,” Derek continued.

“He got up close and personal,” David reasoned.

“By the third victim, he was comfortable enough to use a machete,” Emily added.

“But still from behind,” Aaron countered.

“So, he's not invested in watching his victims suffer,” Ashley summed up.

“Which fits what the M. E. said about the mutilations being post-mortem,” David added.

“So, we’re back around to a religious ritual,” Emily sighed.

“ _I think Reid’s right. This is probably an Afro-Caribbean syncretic religion, but it’s definitely one that’s obscure. No academic text I’ve found has all the details. They came about some time during the Trans-Atlantic Slave Trade when European slavers brought in people from the Caribbean Basin to work in plantations. When that kind of strife and trauma happens, people use faith and religion to cope but Christianity used to have a knack for intolerance of other religions back then. They merged their religions with it to camouflage their real beliefs.”_

“That explains the upside down cross,” Emily reasoned

“ _Right. We’ve got 7 major religions to narrow it down from, none of which openly advocate for human sacrifice. Just animals.”_ Spencer had shifted closer on hearing Piper’s voice, a little life injected into him as he spoke.

“The elements in this altar,” he started. “Look to me like Santeria. It's a Yoruban-based religion developed in Cuba. Practitioners worship orishas, deities that roughly correspond with Catholic saints.”

_“Yeah, but it also closely aligns with Candomble and Lukumi. I’m trying to reach a contact who might be able to narrow it down for us.”_

“Are there any we can cross off?” Aaron asked as Spencer slipped away into the shadows again.

“ _Most likely two. Rastafarianism and Revivalism.”_

“We need to determine whether these killings are part of an existing ritual,” Dave said as Reid migrated to the coffee pot.

“Or whether he's using religion to cover his own psychopathology,” Aaron added.

“The last victim used to frequent a local community centre. It might be a good way to get some background,” Derek offered.

“Good. Take Reid with you.”

 _“Actually, sir, I might need Reid’s help on narrowing down the ritual and the celebrants within the community,”_ Piper volunteered, and Aaron wrinkled his forehead slightly.

“Very well. Reid and Seaver will meet you at the precinct. Prentiss and I will go to the last crime scene. Dave can go with Derek.” Piper and Penelope’s twin images blipped out as Ashley stood up for a cup of coffee. She walked over to Spencer, failing to notice his fingers pressing down on his eyes as he turned away from the blonde.

“Is this the line?” she asked, her voice ringing in Spencer’s ears. He hummed in confusion. “For the coffee?”

“Oh, no, no, just thinking,” Spencer said, staring at the floor.

“Aren’t you always?” Ashley joked weakly, trying to break the tension. Spencer smiled ruefully, staring at the carpet as he sidestepped Seaver before turning around.

“Hey, what’s the weather like in Miami right now?” he asked softly, his voice faintly hoarse.

“I don’t know exactly,” Ashley said pleasantly. “But my guess—75 and sunny.” Spencer offered her a brief smile before turning to settle down into his shadowy corner to read.


	2. Chapter 2

“Here’s what I don’t understand,” Piper said, gazing at their evidence board as the trio sat scattered around the workroom. Spencer had perched on a cabinet in the furthest corner of the room away from the windows and the light. Ashley was seated on a chair, watching Piper as the other woman dangled her ankles from her seat on the desk. “These beliefs and practices are sacred. Usually only a priest does these kinds of sacrifices.”

“What do you mean?” Ashley asked.

“Religions are notorious for hierarchical systems and structures. Especially Christianity. You’ve got your deity at the top of the pyramid, then the Pope, then the cardinals, then the archbishops, then the bishops, then the priest, then the deacon and finally the laity.” She took a deep breath.

“So, either we’re dealing with a priest in the religion—” Spencer said quietly from his corner.

“Or someone arrogant enough to believe they can sanctimoniously sacrifice people,” Piper concluded, watching him worryingly. She bit back her question, moving to close the blinds and turn off the lights, letting the lights from the rest of the precinct filter through the other windows.

“What are you doing?” Ashley asked Piper.

“Hmm? I uh, I think better in the dark. Less distractions,” she said, smiling as she focused on the board. Ashley shrugged, asking if anyone wanted any coffee, but both the doctors rejected, and Piper watched the blonde leave the room for the pot outside. Piper closed the door slowly behind her before turning to Spencer.

“Really? You think better in the dark?” Spencer sneered, flipping through his book.

“Yeah, well, that excuse isn’t going to hold up with everyone else,” Piper scoffed. “Did you see the doctor?”

“I did the MRI yesterday before the briefing. He said he’d get back to me.” Piper glanced over her shoulder before taking a seat next to him.

“It could just be a migraine,” Piper reasoned with him.

“A migraine that’s recurring for weeks?” Piper sighed in defeat. “You’ve been studying hypopituitarism, right? Tell me that doesn’t cause headaches.”

“Okay, yes, I’ll admit that pituitary tumours can cause headaches but so can a sinus infection,” Piper retorted, keeping her voice as soft as possible. “Whatever happens, we’ll figure it out.” He met her soft, caring gaze. “For now, I think we might be able to cross off Vodoun from our list,” she said, and Spencer wrinkled his forehead until he noticed Ashley had entered the room with her mug.

“What happened to your contact?” Ashley asked, taking her seat.

“She knows someone who knows someone who referenced someone in an academic journal.”

“Yeah, Piper’s an aficionado when it comes to academic circles,” Spencer joked weakly and Piper smiled, patting his thigh as she rose up from her seat. “So, the cowrie shells look a lot like Elegua, the deity of the crossroads, a trickster and the impartial enforcer of justice,” he supplied, showing the textbook picture of the god.

“Okay, so, maybe our unsub’s looking for guidance or justice to be enacted,” Piper thought aloud. “But would you kill three people for it? Besides, rituals are rarely sacrificial in nature. Usually, they’re libation rituals and collective meditation and chanting ceremonies. Never anything this viol—" Piper’s voice trailed off as her cell buzzed. “Dr Bishop…Hi, yeah, I’m looking for a consultant on Afro-Caribbean syncretic religions…Not at all, just someone willing to talk to me about the idiosyncrasies of the religions…Okay, great, thank you.” Piper hung up her call just as the others arrived.

“Why are all the lights off?” Hotch asked confusedly as he led Emily and the others into the small workroom.

“Helps me focus,” she answered easily. “What did you find?”

“All the victims know the unsub, and they participate with him in a consensual ritual before he kills them,” Emily summed up.

“He poses the bodies after death. He wants them to be found,” Hotch clarified.

“Well, one thing's for sure is this community does not trust outsiders,” Derek added.

“They barely trust insiders,” Dave continued. “And none of the residents are gonna want to tell us what's ritual and what isn't.” Piper smirked at the profilers, waving her cell.

“Lucky for us, my contact pulled through. I’ve got a meeting set up tomorrow morning.”

* * *

Spencer kept his head low and his sunglasses on, trying to stay away from the light as the assistant showed them into the community college and Professor Walker’s office. Hotch had called them on their way, updating them on another death. Jimmy Mercado was dead in much the same fashion, the same large white chalk symbol, the same blood spatter. They were going to send photos, but Piper was afraid her imagination would do that for her. Spencer gravitated towards the bookshelf and Piper watched concernedly as his finger trailed the book lining. He must have felt her gaze pierce him. “I’ve never seen a first edition Tractatus before,” he murmured.

“That’s German, right?” Piper asked.

“Wittgenstein wanted to identify the relationship between language and reality and to define the limits of science.” Piper nodded slowly, slipping her cell in her pocket.

“Why kill someone the FBI interviewed?” Piper asked, squinting her eyes at him.

“Psychopathic hubris,” Spencer said simply. “The unsub’s success is making him feel invincible.” Piper snorted derisively.

“Yeah, not for long. When I find him, I might just stick his head on a pike.” Spencer’s gaze flitted to her face, her eyes hard like flint, but before he could say anything, Professor Walker entered the room, an apologetic mess for being late. Piper had transformed into a cheerful inquisitor, shaking his hand, introducing herself and Reid.

“When Kiara told me that you wanted a consultant on these recent murders, I couldn’t help myself,” he said, taking his seat, gesturing for Piper to do the same. “I’m assuming that’s why the recent interest.”

“That’s very perceptive of you, Professor—”

“Please, Hollis is just fine. What are titles to a circle of academics?” Piper smiled at him ruefully.

“Speaking of which, Kiara told me you’re eligible for tenure. Congratulations.” Spencer would’ve narrowed his eyes at the professor who seemed to be enraptured by his partner.

“Thank you. How may I be of assistance?” Piper shared a look with Spencer before broaching the question.

“I—I think we can do without the gore. We’ve found three people with cowrie shells placed on the eyes and the mouth as well as an upside down cross next to a drawing made with white chalk, um—” Piper drew out her note pad, sketching out a circle with four quadrants, two ‘X’s and ‘O’s inside the drawing before passing the sketch to the professor.

“Well... You have several different religions manifesting here. Most of the elements are from Santeria healing rituals, but the upside-down crucifix and the chalk drawings-- they're from a much darker religion. Unbaptized Palo Mayombe.”

“What about animal sacrifice?” Spencer asked. “Our most recent murder had a chihuahua that was killed.”

“Santeros don't sacrifice house pets, but there are Palo Mayombe rituals that use dogs. Palo is a secretive religion,” Hollis said, turning to his shelves to pull out a book template bound in leather. “Very hard to research. Mine will be the first academic work on the subject.” He smiled genuinely at Piper, ignoring Spencer’s narrowed gaze.

“Earlier you called it dark, but aren't all the African-based syncretic religions amoral?” Spencer asked. “I mean, it can be used for good or evil depending on the practitioner, right?”

“They’re nature religions,” Hollis said, his eyes never leaving Piper as she shifted, slightly uncomfortable under his penetrative gaze, but her face schooled into cool curiosity. _Hotch taught her well._ “Nature knows no right or wrong, only balance or imbalance.”

“So, what makes Palo darker than other religions?” Piper asked, leaning on her elbows on the desk.

“All the others achieve their goals by pleasing the orishas,” Hollis enlightened. “Palo is the only one that harnesses the spirits of the dead to accomplish its ends.”

“Like necromancy?” she asked.

“Close enough,” he said, smiling gently. “This is an Nganga, the primary tool of a Palero, a Palo priest,” he told her, withdrawing a picture from his book. “Now, at its core is the Nkisi, the spirit of the deceased who inhabits it. Many Paleros believe that the fresher the brain in the skull, the more powerful the Nganga is.”

“Of course,” Piper sighed, and Spencer narrowed his eyes at her in confusion. “Remember the Venezuela grave robbers two years ago?” He nodded, remembering how she’d looked up from her file in the conference room, relating a relevant unsub to a string of religious grave robberies in Venezuela.

“Yes, exactly. Usually, a fresh brain means digging up a recent grave or getting one through donation. I've never heard of a Palero killing to obtain one.” Spencer’s tablet bleeped and he pulled it out, showing the newest crime scene images to Piper.

“Do we have to show him?”

“I don’t see how we just describe it,” Spencer whispered to her.

“Is something wrong?” Hollis asked, seeming genuinely confused. Piper looked to the floor as Spencer showed the ritual scene to Professor Walker.

“Does anything look out of place to you?” Spencer asked and Hollis practically flinched at the image, closing his eyes.

“I know this is hard to look at, but we need your help, Professor,” Piper offered and nodding, Hollis opened his eyes, examining the scene on the device.

“Outside of the human head, it all seems fairly traditional.”

“Well, he cut off the victim's tongue and put it in a dish,” Piper offered. “Does that have some kind of ritual meaning?”

“It may be a sacrifice to Ellegua to silence informants, people who talk to outsiders, but usually you use a cow tongue.”

“Let me ask you this. All of the victims either had hands or fingers removed—” Spencer said but Hollis interrupted.

“That's not good. He may be building an Nganga to Kadiembempe, the deity that some call the devil. It requires finger bones from 7 different corpses.” Piper exhaled stressfully, looking at Spencer.

“He has four so far,” Piper said, stressed about finding three more bodies.

“We need to deliver the profile,” Spencer said, standing up and pulling out his sunglasses.

“Will you be leaving already?” Hollis asked, more to Piper than Spencer.

“We have to find our killer,” Spencer interrupted, more than prepared to pull Piper away from the professor. Except she’d pulled him away first.

“Spence, if our theory’s right and our unsub’s attacking everyone we talk to, Professor Walker might become our next victim,” she warned, an easy smile for Mr Walker’s comfort.

“Okay, we’ll arrange an officer to stay with him,” Spencer offered. Piper tilted her head, hoping he would understand. “No, no, absolutely not.”

“Spencer—”

“Listen to me, okay, bad things happen when we separate.”

“Anthrax?” Piper reminded him.

“We _were_ separated. If I’d stuck by your side, I’d never have gotten anthrax.”

“Or we’d both have gotten anthrax,” Piper countered.

“Touché,” he sighed. “You’ll keep your phone on you?”

“At all times. Go, deliver the profile, give my part to Ashley.” Spencer shook his head but left anyway while Piper accompanied Hollis to his morning class.

* * *

Spencer tried to control his headache by going through the profile they had just finished delivering. They were looking for a lone male, behaviourally in his early 20s while he may be chronologically older. He was part of the community, most likely Hispanic or black and used his religious connection to get close to his victims. He was someone the community trusted, using their vulnerability to prey on them. He’s highly organised in his planning but impulsive in his execution, meaning that his emotions take over once he gets started. He may believe there is an objective goal, but it is, in reality, a compulsion which resulted in a rapid escalation of his MO and his timeframe. He focuses on victims who are fragile and vulnerable and then creates relationships with them.

Emily was looking into community centres with Ashley while Rossi looked into government aid offices with Hotch. Spencer was meant to be going through the juvenile system and foster care, a task he would have usually wrapped up within the hour, but his head felt like it was splitting apart. He’d taken paracetamol and he was drinking water by the bottle, but nothing was working. Reluctantly, he got up, leaving with Derek to check out the soup kitchen again, leaving behind his list.

Derek was getting worried about Spencer. The way his eyes drooped, the constant head lowering, cringing from the light and from noise. But asking him wouldn’t get anywhere and Spencer had a reflex of blocking people out when he needed help the most. It was one of the more infuriating aspects of both his li’l geniuses. Spencer took off his sunglasses after Derek, following him into the community mess hall as they trailed after the sound of chanting and yelling, to reveal a group of people surrounding a man with skin the colour of rich obsidian as he danced in front of a kneeling young woman with a chicken. Neither profiler flinched as the man slit the throat of the chicken and shaking it so that blood spattered on the woman’s mocha coloured skin, trailing down her collarbones and bare shoulders. Derek anxiously unholstered his gun, his amber eyes trained on the silver knife until the chanting stopped. The practitioner turned around, glancing at Derek, then Spencer standing behind him.

“We're with the FBI,” Derek announced carefully. “We're not here to cause any trouble. But, sir, please put that knife down.” He listened, dropping the knife before walking over. He was only slightly taller than Derek, still not up to Spencer’s.

“This is a House of God,” he said, his gaze pinned on Spencer. “You have no right to be here.”

“We just would like to ask you some questions,” Derek said clearly, but still confused by the lack of eye contact he was receiving. “We'd appreciate it if you came with us voluntarily. We're not here to create a spectacle.”

“I will go with you,” he told Spencer and the three of them left as a younger man started to take over the ritual, the doors closed behind them.


	3. Chapter 3

At the precinct, the BAU was on a conference call with Piper and Penelope. _“Ok, your bad boy grew up in foster care. He did 15 years in Apalachee Correctional for attempting to murder a police officer. He was also a member of a violent street gang known as Los Machetes,”_ Penelope reported.

“ _Well, that’s subtle,”_ Piper scoffed.

“Damn,” the detective sighed. The group glanced back at the doctor. “They like to cut off the hands and sometime the heads of their victims.” Hotch asked for some crime scene pictures they could look at and the examiner left immediately to get some.

“Anything else, Garcia?” Hotch prompted her.

_“I can tell you that Julio did his time without incident. He was released in 2003. He regularly visited his parole officer. There are no waves in these crime waters since he got out.”_

“All right, thanks, baby girl.”

“ _I shall await further instruction.”_ Both lines hung up and the profilers looked through the window at Julio Ruiz.

“This guy's been eyeballing the mirror since he got here,” Derek grumbled. “Let's see what he has to say.” He made to enter the room, turning when Spencer asked him to wait.

“I think maybe I should go in first,” Spencer offered, curious of Ruiz’s behaviour.

“What?” Derek glanced at Hotch and Rossi, then Reid.

“Do you remember at the community centre, he said he would come with me?”

“If they already have a rapport...” Rossi trailed off, making his opinion heard.

“You want Morgan in there with you?” Hotch asked, worried about sending him in alone.

“No, I'm all right. Thanks,” Spencer said, taking the file as he went inside, Derek watching concernedly while Aaron asked Dave to take Emily and Ashley to the soup kitchen.

* * *

Spencer placed the file on the table, taking a seat in front of Julio before introducing himself. One by one, he placed a photo of each of their victims on the table. “Do you know who these people are?”

“They are my godchildren,” Julio said. “They all came to me to be healed.”

“And you healed them,” Spencer stated.

“You think I killed them,” Julio remarked. “The saints don't need a human sacrifice. That is a man's sickness.”

“Maybe it's not about sacrifice,” Spencer offered. “Maybe someone needs body parts to build a Nganga.”

“What do you know about Palo?” Julio examined the agent in front of him before leaning over, gesturing at the light above them. “This light... Is no good. It gives you a headache,” he murmured, not breaking contact with Reid even when Morgan burst in with photos of Los Machetes.

“That remind you of your youth?” he yelled. “It's some pretty ugly things to be involved in. Did you help, or did you just watch?” But the contact remained unbroken between Reid and Ruiz. “Is that what you call religion?” Derek pressed. “What kind of man does that to another man?” Reid watched Ruiz carefully as the other man started tapping on the desk with his hands rhythmically. “Not a man of faith,” Derek continued until Ruiz started chanting.

“Eggun buruku ni ki ori baje ni iche paraldo tete tete! Eggun buruku ni ki ori baje ni iche paraldo tete tete! Eggun buruku ni ki ori baje ni iche paraldo tete tete!” When Ruiz finally calmed down, the two profilers left to join the others outside.

“What the hell was that?” the detective asked.

“I think I just witnessed a classic case of trans-possession. It's a form of religious hysteria. He wholeheartedly believes he was being occupied by some form of deity.”

“He wasn't faking it?” Aaron asked.

“Up close you can see physiological signs. His body actually changed in response to the belief,” Derek explained.

“There have been a lot of studies of this phenomenon. There was one case where an 80-year-old woman was able to lift a grown man above her head when she believed she was occupied by her saint.”

“Detective, did you understand what he was saying at the end?” Aaron turned from Spencer to the detective.

“Brother, look, I'm a Puerto Rican Catholic that grew up in Orlando. That wasn't any language I ever heard.”

“I remember the words,” Spencer remarked, the headache subsiding as he settled into his work. “I'm sure he'll be able to translate them.”

“You sure?” Hotch asked, still worried for the young doctor.

“That I remember them?” Spencer asked, his eyes narrowed. Hotch had never doubted his memory before.

“That you want to go back in?”

“Yeah,” Spencer said nonchalantly, heading back into his interrogation as Aaron watched, asking Derek if Reid was alright.

“Yeah, I think so,” Derek confessed. “But something weird was definitely going on in there.”

* * *

Reid sat back down in front of Ruiz who looked more like himself. “What happened?” Ruiz asked innocently. He seemed genuine.

“You have no recollection?” Spencer asked.

“I remember talking about the lights,” Julio confessed.

“You were talking about lights, and then you were talking about headaches.”

“That was my Saint. You're lucky Ellegua spoke to you. What did he say?”

“Eggun buruku ni ki ori baje ni,” Spencer recited.

“You have bad eggun on top of you that's spoiling your head,” Julio translated.

“Iche peraldo tete tete.”

“Do a cleansing quickly.”

“What are eggun?”

“Spirits of the dead.” Spencer was confused. Then again, this entire case was confusing to him.

“Why would you say—”

“I didn’t.”

“Why would your saint say that they’re spoiling my head?”

“Now, that’s a question only you can answer,” he said cryptically. Spencer was about to ask him to clarify, but something flitted on Julio’s face, something Reid couldn’t interpret. “Something is wrong. Can’t you feel it?”

“Yeah. 4 people are dead,” Spencer reminded him. “I think maybe the fifth one is safe with you in here.”

“No, he's not. Someone's about to get hurt. Listen with your heart, not your head.” Spencer was tired of his ambiguity, and so was Derek as he burst through the door again, a vision of anger.

“Your helper, the kid that took over your ritual when we brought you in here?”

“Elian,” he supplied, standing up to hear Derek’s update, his focus finally shifted from Reid.

“My associates just found sale-weight heroin in his room. And an Nganga. Where is he?”

“He’s running,” Julio spat, slamming his hands on the table, the first genuine reaction all day. “Please, I gotta find him. He's got nobody but me.”

“Do you think it's possible that Elian is our Palero?” Spencer asked.

“No. No, he's a good kid.”

“Then why did he run?”

“He must be using again. His mama and papa were junkies. I took him in, got him clean, taught him right from wrong. Please. I gotta find him before he gets hurt.”

“The entire police force is out looking for him.”

“He's from the streets,” Julio pleaded. “He's gonna go so far under, he'll be gone for good. I'm your best chance to find him.” Derek glanced back at the mirror to no response. The profiler turned back to Ruiz.

“You know, you can't protect him if he did this.”

“I'm not protecting him.”

“Then what are you not telling us?” Derek prodded.

“If you want to help Elian, you're gonna have to give us something that we don't know,” Spencer put in.

“I'll ask the orishas to help find this killer,” Ruiz said, grabbing the small bottle of water and unscrewing the lid. Derek and Spencer watched patiently as Ruiz circumambulated himself slowly, sprinkling water on himself as he chanted. Eventually, he stopped, declaring the orishas were with them now. Spencer spread out the four crime scene photos.

“Okay, we have 4 victims, all with cowrie shells in their mouths and eyes. Elegua is called to find justice,” Spencer summed up.

“Two of the victims had fingers cut off,” Morgan continued. “One had both hands removed. And one had its head left on the scene, but the brain was missing.”

“They took the brain and left the head?” Julio asked, confusedly.

“The head was left at the crime scene,” Spencer said.

“No, that is not Palo,” Julio corrected them. “A Palero would not leave the head. He also left the tongue. There is no use in the religion for a tongue that is not pierced with needles. It means nothing just to put a tongue in a dish.”

“Elian is an angry child, but he would not do this. Please, let me find him before it gets worse,” Julio pleaded.

“Thank you for your help,” Derek dismissed, opening the door for the practitioner while Spencer put all the images back into the file. Ruiz stopped by Spencer, letting him know one last thing.

“Your head is spinning because it's full of ghosts,” Ruiz warned him. “You think you can do this work day in, day out and you don't carry it with you? It's eating your soul.” Spencer met his gaze, confused as Julio made his way out past a similarly confused Derek.

“Ghosts?” Spencer merely shrugged, not knowing what to say.


	4. Chapter 4

Piper’s eyes fluttered open against the ground, her body aching. She puffed out a breath, dirt and dust blowing with it. Groaning, she tried to shift her trussed body so that she was on her side, then bending her knees. She tried to use her bruised knuckles to push herself off the ground to her knees, almost keeling over in the process. Her head was swimming in pain, and she heard muffled shrieks beside her. Her gaze shifted to the man trussed to the chair with duct tape next to a ritual object. Her brain was hurting too much to remember what it was. Piper exhaled softly before leaning backwards, thanking Penelope silently for that stupid yoga class. Her bound hands grazed her ankles but missed the inside of her boot and she groaned again, almost falling over before she steadied herself. She didn’t know how long their subject had left, how long she had as she leaned back again so that her fingertips graced the edge of her boot. This wouldn’t work, she sighed, focusing on spreading her knees apart to bring her ankles closer to her hands. The young boy groaned again, muffled by duct tape, as a cell buzzed next to him. Wincing, Piper’s fingers finally reached the top of the switchblade and she started inching it out of her boot. “C’mon,” she murmured. “C’mon, babe.” Just as she managed a good grip on the blade, footsteps echoed outside the door. Pulling it out, Piper careened over, keeping her eyes closed as she pushed the switchblade into the hem of her jeans, her hands positioned underneath so the blade wouldn’t slip somewhere unreachable.

* * *

“All right, so what have we got?” Hotch said, assembling his team in front of him, Piper’s absence accounted for.

“A lot of evidence pointing to Elian Morales,” Rossi said, leaning against the table in front of Seaver.

“Too much,” Morgan added. “He fits the profile perfectly.”

“Too perfectly,” Prentiss agreed. “Like every step was planned. There are no fingerprints, but a single sneaker print.”

“And that sneaker turns up in the kid's room,” Seaver added.

“Maybe somebody's framing Elian, but who?” Hotch asked.

“Someone with enough intelligence and control to set up a very convincing trail,” Morgan said, glancing at Reid who was trying to reach Bishop’s cell.

“Somebody we've met,” Hotch continued. “He's probably been watching us all along.”

“In which case, he’s going into his endgame now,” Prentiss realised. “He needs three more kills, who would he choose?” She almost expected Piper to answer, her skillset feeding into this very question. They needed her to predict a projected behaviour, but Spencer still couldn’t reach her.

“He began his killing for gain of some sort,” Rossi announced. “But his enjoyment of killing is beginning to disrupt his organization. He's demanding attention.”

“Maybe that’s his game,” Seaver proposed.

“Well, he got it,” Morgan said. “From the media, from the public, us.”

“That’s it,” Reid cried, still worried that Bishop hadn’t answered his cell, especially with the connection he’d just made. “Media attention. But not for the killings, for the religion. Bishop said Professor Walker was about to publish a book on Palo Mayombe and that he was up for tenure. We showed him the photo of the fourth victim's tongue in a dish and he didn't say it wasn't right. I mean, he of all people should have known it didn't fit any ritual. And that a Palero would have taken the head. But he wants us to believe that Elian's a Palero and that these are religious killings.”

“Isn’t Piper with him right now?” Derek asked incredulously and panic set into most of the profilers. Hotch still seemed neutral, calling Garcia to get them a background immediately. Spencer’s heart jumped into his throat as he jumped into a car with Derek. Ashley’s blood pumped faster as Emily pumped the accelerator, driving as fast as she could to Walker’s residence.

* * *

Walker dumped the unconscious older man onto the floor as Piper ran through the profile, formulating a talking plan but it shattered as she felt a leather shoe punch through her stomach. Her eyes flew open as she rolled onto her side and curling up as she groaned. “Pity I have to hurt you,” Hollis said. “Such a pretty face.” She felt bile rise up in her throat.

“Please let us go,” she asked rasping. “I can make you famous,” she tried.

“Really?”

“I know,” she stopped to cough. “I know you’re trying to publish your book, that—” she tried to breathe again as her fingers started sawing at the duct tape binding her wrists. “That you want that tenure position. I can help.”

“And how’s a psychology academic going to help me?”

“I have contacts. Just like how I contacted you. I was the reason you were asked to consult on the case. I’m the reason your jail sentence could double. But my team will believe me at my word if I tell them that Ruiz was the one who did this.” Ruiz faltered.

“W—Why would they believe you?”

“Because” Piper sighed. “They’re idiots. You know none of them have a degree in psychology? The man I came in with? All he’s got is a bachelor’s in psych. They all think they’re brilliant profilers. Agent Prentiss, she’s got a degree in criminal justice,” she scoffed. “Rossi, the most seasoned profiler on our team? Criminal justice. My boss has got a law degree as though that’s going to help him determine degrees of psychopathy.”

“But not you?” he sneered, and Piper just laughed, halfway through the tape.

“I’ve got four doctorates in psychology, a bachelor’s in history, a master’s in literature. You know how much my back hurts from carrying that team?”

“Right, so what? We pin everything on Ruiz, kill Morales, then you shoot Ruiz, you get out of here and then what?”

“I get Rossi to do his next book on Ruiz’s reliance on religion and link your new academic research to an unsub’s psychopathy. Your little corner of study leads you to Harvard, Yale, Cambridge, wherever.” She was almost there, she felt it. Walker squatted to her eyeline.

“And then you blackmail me for the rest of my career? Is that it?” Piper scoffed.

“Yeah, right. This gets released, my career’s over. I thought you were an academic.”

“And what’s in it for you?”

“A—Are you serious?” Piper stuttered. “What’s in it for me is that I get to stay alive, moron!” Walker’s face contorted, getting up as he reached for the duct tape on the table next to her cell. “Hey, hey, Walker! This is the only way you’ll get out of this! List—” The rest of her sentence was muffled by the duct tape that now stuck to her lips. He grabbed her by the collar of her blouse, tossing her into a corner of the room so hard that her head banged against the wall with a sickening crack. Silently, she slid down the wall, her head lolling as she fell into unconsciousness next to the door.

* * *

Garcia was on speaker in each car, finishing her update on Walker’s abusive childhood, his father’s accomplishments in the same field, his mother’s suicide and unsavoury psyche evaluations. His residence was empty, as was his office and Penelope reported a disturbance at the soup kitchen. Eventually, they all reconvened and Spencer tried to concentrate in Julio Ruiz’s room, but his headache was killing him. He couldn’t do this, not now, not now, _not now._ Piper needed him, needing his brain, needed him to concentrate and find her. Her cell had been turned off so Penelope couldn’t trace it. He couldn’t think, he felt his entire world collapsed on him as the rest of his team congregated outside. Everything felt suffocating and he surrendered to the panic, ripping the vest off and his hand flapped as he paced, trying to think until his gaze settled on the frame set on the table. It pictured Ruiz outside an abandoned foster home. Rossi’s voice echoed in his ears, repeating ‘the victims were killed in their homes’ and Spencer ran down the fire escape next to Ruiz’s room and into the foster home with the clanking gate. He let the gat clang behind him as he approached the front door. His right hand hovered above his gun and Spencer crept forward into the musty home, gliding through the hallway without a vest or back up. His concern was Piper, and her safety alone. Even when he felt the barrel of a gun pressed against the small of his back.


	5. Chapter 5

Spencer peeked through the hands at his eyes as he surveyed the room that Walker had shoved him into. Morales was taped to a chair, his eyes glazed over from the heroin. Ruiz was face-first against the floor, grumbling against the duct tape on his mouth. Piper’s cell and gun were clattered on the table, but her blades weren’t there. Walker must not know about them. She’d decided to arm herself better after what happened with Irene Simmons, spending hours training with Emily and Derek and academy instructors. Eventually, she’d bought twin switchblades that she could store in both her combat boots. When Spencer turned around to face the door, his gaze fell to his girlfriend slumped against the door. Part of him wanted to lunge towards her. Another part wanted to lunge at Walker. But the more rational part of him knew he had to talk and distract him until Piper could gain consciousness. He just hoped his voice was enough to wake her up and that his head would stop hurting long enough to work properly. “You're a professor, and you're very smart. You're a lot smarter than this.” But Walker just scoffed, telling Spencer to dump his gun on the table with the others. “Smart people like you and I don’t need guns.”

“Like you and I,” Walker repeated as Ruiz yelled behind the duct tape. Through his fingers, he saw his girlfriend shift imperceptibly.

“Yeah. Men of intelligence.” He tried to ignore how Piper’s shoulders were moving, one eye just open enough to see what was happening.

“Oh, we're the same?” Hollis sneered. “Shut up,” he barked at Ruiz who was still moaning.

“I think that there are some similarities. I mean, uh, we both love books.”

“Books?” Walker laughed at the ridiculous similarity.

“You know what? I don't—I don't believe that you killed all these people just to sell a book,” Spencer said, rubbing at his eyes.

“Oh, really? Elian will die of an overdose after killing his Santero for his fingers. It will all make sense to the police.”

“And the deaths of two federal agents?” Hollis shrugged.

“You will have heroically tried to rescue Dr Bishop from Elian, but you will both die at his hand. Have we not established how ill he is? He's been on a Palo rampage. Everyone will want to learn about the religion that drove the boy crazy.”

I'm sorry, I'm sorry,” Reid tried, noticing Bishop’s wrists finally free. “But I don't believe that this is about a book. And I don't think that you do, either.”

“Excuse me?” Walker laughed.

“I—I think it's more about the abuse, the abandonment, and the lack of attention from your father. That's enough. You know what the ridiculous thing is, is that you—” Spencer laughed. “You set up a paradigm where you actually have to get caught. Think about it. If you get away with this, your father will never know that you did any of it.” Spencer was still wiping at his eyes as Piper cut through the duct tape at her feet. Hollis just squinted at Spencer.

“What is wrong with you?”

“I’m sorry, it’s just very bright in here,” he said as Piper stumbled silently to her feet, biting her tongue as her body ached, fingering the blade like she’d trained. “Please turn the lights off.”

“Lights?” Piper held out a finger as a guide for aim, nodding once before lunging to throw the blade between Walker’s shoulders and falling to the floor as Spencer picked up his gun from the floor. Walker spun around in agony, trying to aim for Piper when a bullet ripped through his leg. Yells of FBI followed the door bursting open with Derek storming through. Piper scrambled to her feet, pulling another blade from her boot as Spencer took the one from Hollis’s back to free Ruiz. Piper couldn’t speak until Rossi gently pulled the duct tape from her mouth. She still cried out in pain.

“Ambulance,” she said. “Walker overdosed Morales on heroin,” she shrieked as Derek took a raving Walker out to the police. As Hotch called an ambulance, Piper lunged for her purse, pulling out a torch. Piper waved it in each eye, checking his ocular reflexes. She cursed, cringing as she pulled off the duct tape from Morales’s face violently, to no response. His breathing was still uneven and Piper rummaged through the bag, pulling out a spray as she told Rossi to help her get Morales on the floor. Dave lay his head on the floor as Spencer took the phone from Hotch’s hands, telling the EMTs that they were giving Ruiz naloxone. Dave glanced at Aaron who looked perplexed as Piper peeled a layer from the back of the spray while Spencer tilted the boy’s head back.

“Ready.” Piper placed the spray into his right nostril before pressing firmly on the plunger. Done, Piper tossed the spray aside, helping Spencer put the young man into recovery position. His breathing started becoming deeper and Piper let out a deep breath, sitting down as Spencer crawled over, tucking her body into his as sirens resounded outside.

“I don’t have another one,” Piper murmured against him, nuzzling her head into his shoulder before pulling away abruptly to slap Spencer repeatedly on his arm with each syllable. “And who told you to come in without a vest?”

“Really? Who told you to protect a serial killer?”

“Obviously, if I knew Walker was the killer, I wouldn’t have stayed with him.” They both glared at each other as Morales took deep breaths, his eyes fluttering open to see Ruiz crouched over him.

“If you two are done, would either of you mind explaining what we just saw?” Spencer winced as he realised that they’d have to explain the plan they’d just enacted. They couldn’t exactly tell Rossi or Hotch that naloxone was the immediate rescue medication in the case of an opioid overdose, including heroin and Dilaudid.

“I learnt it,” Piper blurted out, blatantly lying. “Back when I used to work with drug addicts. Opioid addictions were rare, but I learnt it just in case. I usually keep a Nyxoid spray in my bag.” If Hotch knew the real reason, he didn’t show it and Rossi hadn’t been with them for the Hankel incident. Piper smiled sheepishly and the explanation seemed to be enough with EMTs flooding into the house. Rossi beckoned for Piper to get checked up by the medics and Spencer made to follow until he was stopped by Ruiz.

“You heard me calling,” he insisted gratefully. “That's why you came.”

“Julio, I found a photograph of you in front of this building,” Spencer explained. “That's how I found you.”

“You don't really believe that, do you?” Ruiz questioned him as Hotch watched. “That you just happened to see a photograph?” Spencer didn’t answer, not quite sure what he believed. “This is Orula's Ide. It will protect you. I don't need it anymore, but... You do,” he insisted before sidling past Hotch to follow Morales into an ambulance. Spencer made to follow but was stopped by Hotch.

“What do you need protecting from?”

“I have no idea,” Spencer said. “People like Walker?” That seemed to suffice, but Hotch was still worried about the young man, watching from a distance as he fussed over Piper. This job was hard enough without him having to worry about everyone’s mental health. Somehow, Emily and Dave seemed to be the only ones he never had to worry about—which worried him.


	6. Epilogue

“That doesn’t make any sense,” Spencer said, sitting on a chair for once in front of Piper and his doctor as they both glanced at the brain scans.

“No, he’s right,” Piper murmured. “You’re perfectly healthy.”

“Well, what do I do now?” Spencer asked both of them.

“Well, have you considered...” His doctor trailed off and Piper looked up from the scan.

“Considered what?”

“A psychosomatic cause,” the doctor said, and Piper’s body started to cringe, wishing he hadn’t quite said that.

“Psychosomatic?” Spencer repeated.

“It just means a mental or emotional stress—”

“No, I know what psychosomatic means, Doctor, but it’s not that,” Spencer said his tone firm.

“Spencer, maybe we should get some air and—”

“No, it's not—I'm not crazy,” he insisted. Piper took over before things got any more heated.

“Okay, no one's calling you crazy, Spence.”

“I have headaches,” Spencer said, still pursuing the same tangent that his doctor was suggesting. “I have intense sensitivity to light because there's something wrong with me physically, not mentally. It's not that.”

“Spencer, listen to me. Look at me. We will figure this out, okay?” Piper took a deep breath as Spencer left the room in a huff. “I’m so sorry. Thank you for everything.”

“Dr Bishop, watch out for him, okay? I don’t know if he can take any more stress.” Piper nodded, understanding the doctor’s worry. She let out a breath before following Spencer outside. She let the door close behind her as Spencer squinted at her.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” Piper narrowed her eyes at him, but it wasn’t going to work. Pursing her lips, they walked out into the sunlight and Spencer slipped on his sunglasses, keeping them on until they arrived at Piper’s apartment. They’d solved the moving in problem by simply staying at whichever place was closer since both of them had far too many books they didn’t want to part from. She’d replaced all the fluorescent lights with warmer light, similar to the sconces that Spencer had at his place. He barely heard Piper ask if he’d like a cup of tea. Spencer licked his lips, leaning against the kitchen counter as Piper set the kettle to boil. “No Lucy?”

“She’s staying with Daniel for winter break,” Piper said, leaning on the other side of the counter. Instinctively, he reached out a hand to graze her bump softly. “It doesn’t hurt,” she assured him. “What about your head?” Spencer sighed.

“My mother's a paranoid schizophrenic who's been institutionalized, so I know very well what mental illness looks like. Probably better than him,” he admitted bitterly. Piper took in a deep breath, circumambulating the counter to take a seat on the bar stool next to him.

“I want you to listen to me carefully, okay?” Piper said, holding his hands, rubbing them slowly. “I know you’re scared about what these headaches mean. But if you were developing schizophrenia, you would see it in the scan.” Spencer looked at her tiredly. “Okay.” She sighed, pulling out the file his doctor gave her. “See these,” Piper said, spreading the scans out. “If you had any form of schizophrenia, you would see structural and functional changes in the cortex, as well as in the connections between different cortical regions,” she said. “Things like reduced grey matter volume and disrupted white matter integrity, you see them progressively. Okay, you are not going to turn 30 and then have your grey matter start reducing and you are staring at me.” Spencer shook his head comically.

“I just wish you’d talk like that more often.” Piper blushed, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek.

“Derek and Dave would strap me down and give me a lobotomy. Look, we are going to cut down on coffee, I’ll start cooking at home more, you’re going to sleep regularly, and I will talk to Theo about getting your bloodwork done. Doctor’s orders,” Piper said, with benevolent surety, smiling until Spencer groaned.

“Really, Theo?”

“Oh, not this again,” Piper grumbled, shifting off the bar stool as the kettle boiled. “You interviewed him once because you thought he kidnapped me and all of a sudden he’s the…” Piper's voice trailed off as she felt his fingers brush the hair off her neck and press soft, sloppy kisses to the nape of her neck, teeth barely grazing her skin.

“What were you saying?” he whispered before tracing his tongue around her earlobe and blowing gently, sending a shiver down her spine as she felt a warmth in her underbelly, especially as his long, nimble fingers untucked her sweater from her skirt. He had her pinned against the counter and her breaths had turned shallow as she closed her eyes, dissolving into his touch.

“Something irrelevant,” she breathed as Spencer pulled at the soft fabric on her shoulder to press kisses and love bites on her shoulder. She turned so that he pressed her back against the tan countertop. Her hands glided to his waist as he kissed her lips softly, his fingertips tugging softly at her loose, tumbling hair. He pulled away, their noses barely inches from each other.

“Sorry,” he murmured. “You’re right, I just…”

“You’re jealous,” Piper smirked, her hands gliding to his chest as Spencer stammered. Piper tried and failed to stifle a laugh. “When are you going to realise that I’ve known Theo since I was 20? He’s a close friend, that’s all it is.” She let her hands rest around his neck. “I choose you. Every time." Spencer snorted softly.

"Even if I can't dress or bathe or remember to eat on time and you have to-"

"Stop it," she said, firmly. "It won't come to that. And even if it does, we will figure it out. But there is nothing scary in those scans." Finally, the kettle whistled behind her and Piper poured out two cups of chamomile tea with a spoonful of honey in each, Spencer's headache finally subsiding as he sipped on the golden liquid, listening to Piper softly strumming her guitar. He let a slow smile spread on his face as she put the song to words.

> 'Twas in another lifetime, one of toil and blood  
>  When blackness was a virtue the road was full of mud  
>  I came in from the wilderness, a creature void of form  
>  Come in, she said  
>  I'll give ya shelter from the storm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> song: shelter from the storm - bob dylan (1975)


End file.
